Secrets
by khollie
Summary: Just another week with the family?


Secrets

"I'm telling ya, Judge. This thing is getting really creepy. Someone has been watching me for about a week now." Mark sat sideways in the overstuffed armchair and tried to catch another piece of popcorn in his mouth.

Judge Hardcastle looked over at his young friend in exasperation. "And I'm telling you, kid, it's all in your head. Nobody is watching you. Now let me watch the ball game."

Mark sat up straight in his chair. "Okay then, you tell me why the same car was parked outside the gate for two mornings running."

Milt sighed, running a hand through his short white hair. "I checked it out. The old man had engine trouble and his son came and towed the car off this morning. No mystery. Now just watch the game."

Mark flopped back down in his chair and stared at the TV without seeing the game. He remained convinced that someone was watching him. He had even talked to Frank Harper about his feelings. The police detective had taken him seriously, but two days of discreet questions had turned up nothing. Mark's musings were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

"You expecting anybody, Judge?"

"Nope. Go see who it is." The older man watched carefully as Mark made his way to the door. Though the two weren't pursuing their hobby of running down criminals, trouble had found its way to the front door more than one time. Now with McCormick's insistence that he was being watched, the retired jurist was on the alert; he just wasn't telling Mark that he was worried.

Mark came back into the room carrying an extra large pizza box. "Did you order a pizza?"

Hardcastle came over to the desk as Mark deposited the pizza box and opened it. "Ummmm, extra pepperoni and onions, my favorite."

"I didn't order that, kiddo."

Mark nodded his head, "I didn't think so. The delivery guy said the bill was already paid. He wouldn't even take a tip, said that was covered too. You think it's safe to eat?"

Hardcastle was already reaching for the phone. He dialed up the number on the pizza box and asked for the manager. A few minutes later, he had his answer. "A lady came into the joint, placed the order, paid for it and ordered it delivered to this address. Gave the driver a five dollar tip to bring it ahead of three other orders."

"But we can eat it, right?" Mark was nearly salivating at the sight of the hot pizza.

"I've known Eli for years. If he's says it okay, it's okay . So,

yeah, we can eat it." The words were just barely out before Mark grabbed the largest slice and began to devour it.

Mark paused in his eating just long enough to fix a stare at his friend and mutter, "I told you so."

The next morning found both men up early. They had a standing appointment on the basketball court every morning for a round of one on one. Despite the thirty-five year difference in their ages, the old jurist was very capable of giving the younger man a real run for his money. By the time the game was

over, Mark had sweat running down his lean frame and his shaggy brown hair

clung to his forehead. The judge was equally sweaty, his trademark sweatshirt

damp and clinging to his muscular chest. He grinned as Mark fished a twenty

dollar bill out of his jeans pocket. "You win this time, Judge, but only

because I didn't sleep well last night."

"Well, if you'd go to bed at a decent hour instead of staying up all the

hours of the night, you might have the energy to beat an old man." The

smile on Hardcastle's face was reflected by the smile on McCormick's.

"We'll see tomorrow morning. I'm gonna go take a shower. Since you

won, you get to fix breakfast. See ya in ten!" With that, Mark sprinted

off inside his house before the judge could stop sputtering in pretend anger.

After a hearty breakfast of oatmeal and bacon, the judge opened the door to walk out to the garage only to find Frank on the doorstep with his hand raised to knock. It was hard to tell which man was more surprised. Frank recovered quicker and gave a quirky grin. "Morning, Milt. Is Mark around? I need to talk to the both of you."

"Yeah, he's out back setting up the sprinkler system. Come on out."

Milt led the way through the kitchen and out the back door. "It's only

eight thirty. Is something wrong?"

"Let's find the kid, then I'll tell you both what's up." Frank

said shortly.

The two men walked out and found Mark fighting with the water hose.

"'Morning Frank. You're up early today." Mark's smile faded when

he took in Frank's serious expression. "What's wrong?"

"Have you been into any trouble lately? Noticed anything unusual?"

Frank took out his notebook and pen.

Before answering, Mark sized up the detective. There wasn't a trace of a smile on his slightly round face and his thinning hair was mussed, as if he

had been in a hurry to leave the house that morning. "Just what

I told you. I've had this feeling like someone has been watching me. And

last night, someone sent us a pizza." Mark answered. "What's come

up?"

"Let's sit down for this." Hardcastle interrupted and led the way to

the patio. As the three men sat down, the retired judge fixed a steely look

at his old friend. "Okay, Frank. Out with it."

"I don't have much. Last week the kid comes to me and gives me this

story about being watched. I look and don't find anything. This morning I

got called in an hour early about a report on my desk. It seems that Mark's

name came up on a records search. The only problem is, it's a local private

detective that's making the inquiry. I called him this morning, rousted him

out of bed actually, and he tells me that he has a client who is interested in

McCormick. He can't, or won't, tell me anything more." Frank looked at

Mark closely.

Mark had gone silent. The feeling of slight annoyance was turning into full blown paranoia. "But I haven't done anything. Why would anyone be

looking at me? Hardcase here is the one people usually look at to cause

trouble."

"Normally, I'd agree..."

"But..." prompted Hardcastle.

"But, you do have that court case with Joseph Nelson coming up. You were the one on the inside. It is your testimony that is going to put him inside

for the rest of his life." Frank leaned forward, resting his forearms on

the small table. "I got word yesterday that he may try something to get out

of court. I don't have to tell you that the only thing that is going to

keep him out of prison is you not testifying against him."

"I know." Mark's voice was low and hard. "That's one reason that

the judge and I haven't really left the grounds too much. We've beefed up

security here but Nelson isn't mob connected or anything. He doesn't have

a lot of money to work with either. He pulled the trigger himself on that

job."

"True. But you are the only one he ever missed and someone had to hire him. Maybe someone higher up wants to keep Nelson on the payroll." Frank mused.

"That doesn't make any sense, Frank. Nelson was a small-time free agent. We set him up to take a shot at McCormick. The evidence isn't there to pin him for the first two murders. He knows that. Plus the fact that he couldn't afford the bail, and no one is going to give him any money. I don't think he is a real threat." Hardcastle wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more, himself or the young man seated to his left.

Before anyone could say another word, a friendly shout sounded from the front porch. "Anyone home?"

Mark got up to answer the hail. He found the local UPS man standing on the front doorstep with a small package in his hand. The guy handed the package to Mark. "Here ya go, Mark. I need ya to sign here. You ordering more

parts for that racecar of yours?" He grinned as he said it. "Not that

it's any of my business. Have a good day now." He waved goodbye and

turned to leave.

"See ya, Chase." Mark called after him as he returned to his friends.

"What is it, McCormick?" the judge asked.

"I don't know. The return address is too smudged to read."

Frank spoke up. "Let me see that before you open it." He held out his

hand for the box.

Wordlessly, Mark handed over the brown paper-covered package. It was small, about the size of a shoebox. Both residents of Gull's Way watched carefully as Frank made a complete inspection of the package before handing it back to Mark.

"Like you said, the return address is too smudged to read. It could be

dangerous. Let me take it back to the lab and have it tested."

Mark protested. "If it were going to blow up, it wouldn't have come in

the mail. Someone would have just left it on the step for me to pick up."

Frank considered this point. "Mark, you came to me because you felt like you were being followed or watched. You have a felon who really would like to see you dead, and you still think this is harmless?"

"I told you, Nelson had to do his own hit and he doesn't use explosives.

He would come here and do it in person." Mark watched Frank's face

closely. He knew that he had scored a few logic points with the older man.

"Okay, open it, slowly." Frank wasn't convinced, but the kid had a

good point.

Mark took the judge's proffered pocket knife and cut the tape on the ends. Gently, he unwrapped the paper to find a gaily wrapped package inside with a note attached to the top. He handed the note to Frank as he continued to open the silver wrapping paper. A clear plastic container came into view holding a small scale model of a Trans-Am race car. The number 32 was emblazoned upon the door and the name, "Skid-Mark" was painted above the driver's door.

Mark's face lit up and his voice was filled with wonder.

"Look! This is the same car I drove in the last race I ran. Flip painted

my name himself. This is incredible! What's the note say?" Mark couldn't take his eyes off the car.

"It says, 'Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas, and all other holidays

combined'." Hardcastle answered. "It's not signed, but it looks like a woman's handwriting."

"Let me see that." Mark took the note and stared at it. "The handwriting...looks a little familiar." A puzzled frown marred his features. "I should know that handwriting, but I don't."

"Could it be Barbara's?" Hardcastle asked, referring to Barbara

Johnson, the daughter of Mark's racing mentor Flip Johnson.

"No, I'd know her writing. Looks like a chicken scrawl. This looks like

an real lady's writing." Mark shook his head. "I don't know. Who would be sending me something this fantastic?"

Now Frank spoke up. "What about Sonny Daye? Could he be trying to get his act together, you know, act like your dad for a couple of minutes?"

"No." Mark's answer was short and clipped. "I"m gonna go put this

up. See ya later, Frank." Taking the car, the card, and the paper, Mark

walked slowly to the gatehouse.

Frank watched him go. "I'm sorry, Milt. I know how sensitive Mark is

about how Sonny treated him."

"That's okay, Frank. What you don't know is that Mark has written him

about a dozen times and the letters keep coming back stamped 'Return to

sender'. Sonny doesn't want anything to do with Mark." Hardcastle

sighed and wiped both hands down his face. "Do me a favor, Frank. Can you

put a tail on Mark for a few days? He'll spot it, but I don't think

he'll do anything about it. Either someone wants him dead, or he's got a

secret admirer." Milt leaned back in the wrought iron chair and fixed a

determined glare on his face. "We've got to find whoever this before

something bad happens to the kid."

Frank picked up his notebook and stashed it back in his pocket. He knew that when Hardcastle mentioned his young charge as 'Mark' and not

'McCormick', he was really worried. "I'll pull out all the stops on

this one, Milt." Frank stood and left quietly, leaving the older man with

his thoughts.

Nearly an hour passed before Hardcastle began to really worry about Mark's state of mind. He knew from experience that the longer Mark was quiet, the more worried and upset his friend really was. Mark's life had been a very

long series of misfortunes and betrayals. Through it all, Mark had tried to

see the good things and do his best to survive and be happy. Hardcastle knew

that Mark's best defense was to talk. The more the young man talked, the

more he was able to hide his true feelings and push his own hurts down. If

Mark wasn't talking, then this time, he was too upset to be able work it out

on his own. Hardcastle wanted Mark to know that he wasn't alone anymore.

Hardcastle stopped outside of the French doors that led into Mark's living room. He was about to knock when he heard a small, strangled sound.

Soundlessly, the judge opened the door and peeked in. He wasn't prepared

for the sight of Mark sitting on the couch, clutching a small book and the

race car, staring wordlessly into space. The judge sat down on the coffee

table facing his friend and studied him. Mark's hands were trembling and

his breath was coming in short bursts. It almost looked as if Mark were

terrified of something. Milt couldn't imagine how a toy could terrify someone who had survived two years in prison.

Mark looked at the judge and held out the book. "Why? Why is someone doing this? What did I do to deserve this?"

After taking the book and the race car and placing them gently beside him, Hardcastle placed his hands on Mark's knees. "What happened? What did

you find?"

"It's her handwriting, Judge."

"Whose?"

"Momma's," came the quiet reply.

Hardcastle was shocked. He had to swallow twice before finding his voice. "How do you know it's her handwriting?"

"That book. She gave it to me the last Christmas before...before...she

died. She wrote in it. The handwriting is the same." Confusion was

written on the young man's face.

Hardcastle picked up the book and saw it was a copy of "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea". Inside the front cover was the inscription, "To my little man, who one day will explore the world and save the rest of us from

the creatures of the deep. Love, Momma". The note that had accompanied the

package rested on the same page and even to Hardcastle's unpracticed eye,

the handwriting looked remarkedly similar.

"See? It's her writing." Mark's voice quivered.

Hardcastle stood up holding the book and the note. "Let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

"Downtown. We'll show this to Audie. She can tell us more about this

handwriting. Then, we'll have a place to start working. Someone is playing

a game and we just got dealt in."

The drive to the station was accomplished in near silence. They drove the truck since the judge didn't really trust McCormick's driving in his current state of mind. They parked near the entrance and headed up to Frank's office. Frank looked up in surprise as they entered.

"What's up? I just left your place."

"This is what's up." Hardcastle showed him the note and the

handwriting in the book. "Now Donna McCormick died 18 years ago. Mark said

she must of had a stroke or something because he came home from school and

found her on the floor. He really doesn't remember much about that day and

of course the officials wouldn't have done much anyway or asked his

opinion." Hardcastle stole a look at Mark who was standing by the window,

his back to his friends. "We want to talk to Audie Zimmerman. She can tell

us a lot more about who wrote this note. I also want you to put in a call to

Atlantic City and find out what you can about Donna McCormick's death.

Someone is going to a great deal of trouble and I want to find out who."

Frank lowered his voice. "I'll get right on it. Audie's out of the office till tomorrow or Monday. Give me the stuff, I'll drop it off for you." Frank tilted his head toward McCormick. "I may have to talk to Mark later to get more information. Especially knowing who his father was mixed up with."

Mark spoke without turning around. "Sonny doesn't have anything to do

with this. He left when I was five. Momma died when I was 12. She was

buried on a Tuesday, the day after I found her. My first set of foster parents told me the county buried her since we didn't have any money. I've been to her grave a few times in the past few years."

Now Mark turned and looked at Frank, his eyes and voice hardening. "You find out what's going on. I want to know whose sick idea of a joke this

is. Let's go, Hardcase. I've got a yard to mow." Mark pulled open the

door and stalked out.

Frank and Hardcastle watched him go. They hated seeing the solid shield go up on their friend. They both knew that Mark used that shield to keep from getting hurt. The early lessons of self-reliance and distrust of people in

general were re-asserting themselves. As much as Mark had needed those

lessons to survive, his friends wanted him to forget them and count on the

lessons of friendship to help him through the tough times.

The next morning, Friday, Mark finished his breakfast hurriedly. One of the local antique car clubs in town was organizing a weekend road rally and the

judge had volunteered the both of them to help. Mark was going early and

taking the Coyote to put on display in the concept car section. He had spent

the whole of the previous evening washing and waxing the car and detailing out

the interior. He drove out to the rally way alone. Hardcastle was going to

meet him there for lunch and then they were going to drive up to LA for the

baseball game. Hardcastle had bought the tickets three weeks earlier and

neither man saw a reason to waste perfectly good tickets. Hardcastle knew

that Mark needed the time to just relax and not think for a bit. They both

knew that if Nelson was trying to stir up trouble, the middle of a ballpark

was not the place for it. He resolutely put all thoughts of the handwriting

note and the gift out of his mind as he drove.

He reached the raceway, checked in with the judges and got his assigned parking place. Mark spent a few minutes spot polishing the car and arranging the small posterboard that held the car's stats and specifications. While his car wasn't in the judging, the sign would answer most people's idle

questions. He spent the better part of the morning just walking, not stopping

too long at any one booth and avoiding conversations with anyone. He saw

Hardcastle pull in around noon and made his way over to the parking lot.

As he was walking, he saw his beloved Coyote sitting three rows over.

Glancing over, he saw a middle-aged woman leaning over the car and examining

the interior from the passenger side. He stopped and called out to her.

"Can I help you?"

To his surprise, the woman ducked her head down, turned and began to run. Without thinking, Mark began to run after her. "Stop! I won't hurt

you!" He watched as the woman turned a corner and disappeared around the

side of the garage that housed the older exhibits. He slowed down and rounded

the corner himself, only to be brought up short by a fist buried in his

midsection. A blow to the back of his head sent him crashing to the ground

without a chance to defend himself.

Hardcastle had just gotten out of his truck and was waiting for McCormick to reach him. He could see his young friend crossing the parking lot, and beginning to run past the Coyote. Craning his neck around, he could see that Mark was running after a woman who had a good head start on him. Hardcastle took up the chase intending to help Mark to corral the woman. He sped around the far corner of the building just in time to see a man jump into a dark sedan and speed off. Milt stopped to catch his breath and scratched his head in bewilderment. He began walking behind the garage, breaking into a sprint when he spotted McCormick's unmoving body on the hot concrete.

Hardcastle hurried to his friend's side and knelt down beside him.

"McCormick? McCormick? You with me here, kiddo?" Hardcastle placed a hand

on Mark's neck to check his pulse. He was rewarded by a faint groan and

McCormick began to stir.

"That's right. Nice and easy." Hardcastle helped Mark to turn over and

gently sat him up.

"Who clobbered me?" Mark asked, shaking his head to dispel the

dizziness.

"I don't know, but whoever it was did a real number on ya," Hardcastle

answered, trying not to sound worried. "Who were you chasing?"

Mark took his friend's outstretched hand and pulled himself to his feet.

"Some woman. She was practically inside the Coyote. I thought she was just

looking it over real good. I yelled to her, she ran, I chased her, and the lights went out."

"Short, simple, to the point, and says nothing at all." observed the

judge. The two walked back to Mark's car, Hardcastle keeping a hand near

Mark's elbow just in case he needed a hand.

Mark walked to the passenger side of the car and leaned in. He found an envelope lying on the seat with his name neatly printed on it. Exchanging a

puzzled glance with Hardcastle, Mark gently opened the envelope and extracted

a single sheet of paper.

"Griffith Park, Saturday 2:00 pm." Mark read.

"Sounds like she wants to meet you." the judge said, taking the paper and reading it for himself. The message was printed in block letters with a thick

leaded pencil. Hardcastle grimaced to himself, there would be no comparing

the handwriting on this note to the one on Mark's present.

"So why not just stay right here and meet me?" Mark leaned against the

car and massaged his aching neck. "This is getting nuttier all the time."

"So maybe someone is watching her and she's trying to give whoever it is the slip," his friend reasoned.

"This is making less and less sense. So what should we do now?" Mark pushed off the car, not quite masking the groan of pain at the abrupt

movement.

"Right now, we go see Charlie Friedman and get you checked out. That guy clocked you pretty hard." Hardcastle stated decisively.

Mark shook his head, gently. "No doctor. I'll just get some aspirin and

I'll be fine. What are we going to do about the note?"

"It's addressed to you. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. Let's go see Audie, and see what she says. Then I'll

make up my mind about meeting this woman." Mark was making some good solid sense, and it was scaring Hardcastle.

In spite of his protestations, Hardcastle drove Mark to Dr. Friedman's

office to have him checked out. While his young charge was in with the

doctor, the judge found a pay phone and called in a report about the attack to

Frank. It didn't take long for the good doctor to pronounce Mark in need of

a long night's sleep and just some Tylenol for the discomfort. Once they

were back in the truck, Mark turned on Hardcastle.

"Okay, satisfied now? I told you I was fine. Now can we go see Audie?"

"Sure kid, now we can go see Audie. She should still be at work, it's

only 2:30." Hardcastle agreed. "Maybe she has some answers for us by now." Mark didn't answer. He was staring out the window, his chin cushioned on his

fist as he leaned against the window.

The drive to the police station was made in silence. Mark didn't say

anything as he followed Hardcastle into the building and up the stairs to

Audie's lab. Audie Zimmerman was the head of the handwriting analysis team

for the county's crime lab. She was an older woman of Asian descent with

long silver streaks in her black hair. She liked to tease the detectives she

worked with that it was their fault that the silver in her hair seemed to grow

a little more each year.

Now she looked up from her microscope as she heard her door open. "Judge! I was just about to call you. Mark, how are you?" she asked, her voice warm and low.

"I'm fine, Audie. How's work?" Mark managed a broad smile for her.

"Did you come up with anything?"

"You sure are in a hurry today." Audie teased him. Her grin turned to a

frown of worry as she took in Mark's rigid stance and saw the haunted look

in his eyes. "What's wrong, Mark?"

Hardcastle answered. "Did you have any luck with those two handwriting samples we left with Frank?"

Audie picked up on the "official" tone in his voice. "Quite a bit

actually." She reached behind her and picked up the book and the note. She

laid them on the table before her as she motioned the men closer. "At first

glance, I would have to say that both handwriting styles are very similar.

When I compared them under magnification, I got even more confused. As far as I can tell, either the note is an excellent fake, or it was written by the

same person after some sort of major life change." Audie gave an apologetic

shrug of her shoulders.

Mark sat on a stool opposite her. "We didn't tell you. The message

in the book was written by my mother when I was eleven years old. The note, I

received yesterday." Mark's voice held a note of remembered pain. "My

mom died eighteen years ago."

Audie fell silent. She picked up the book and note and seemed to be studying them both intently. "I have to stand by my decision. This could be the

best forgery I have ever seen, or else your mother wrote you a note."

Hardcastle cleared his throat and spoke up. "You said some sort of major life change?"

"Yes. Twenty years would account for some of the differences. People grow and change over the years and their handwriting reflects some of that. If

this is Mark's mother's handwriting, I would say that she has gone through

some very tough times in the past eighteen years." Audie stood up and

walked around to Mark, lying a hand on his shoulder. "That's the best I

can tell you. I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Audie. At least that gives me something to think about." Mark

picked up the book and walked slowly out of the room, leaving the note

behind.

Audie looked askance at Hardcastle. "I don't get it, Milt."

"His mom died when he was twelve. Whoever sent him this note is playing with his head. How sure are you about it being the same person?"

Audie cocked her head to the side. "I hate to say it, but it really could

be the same person. I don't know how, but that is my professional

judgement. You get to figure it out."

Hardcastle headed for the door himself. "Thanks, Audie. Just write up

your findings and send them down to Frank, will ya?"

"I will, Milt. Take care of Mark. I don't even want to imagine what is

going through his mind right now." Audie said sadly.

The judge made his way down to Frank's office and knocked on the door. He entered at Frank's invitation. Hardcastle fully expected to find

Mark inside, but was surprised when Frank was the only person in the office.

"Where's Mark?" Frank asked by way of greeting.

"Must be in the truck. I thought he'd be in here with you by now,"

Hardcastle replied as he sat heavily in the chair.

"What did you find out from Audie?"

Briefly, the judge outlined the results that Audie had shared with them.

"There is no way that McCormick's mother is still alive. He found her

lying in their apartment when he was twelve years old. He went into the

foster care system from there. Now you and I both know that if there was any

chance that she was alive, he would have been given back to her. Now we are

supposed to believe that she is alive after twenty years and trying to contact

her son? That just doesn't make any sense." Hardcastle snorted, waving

his hand as if to swat away a bothersome fly.

"What if this has something to do with Sonny? We know he's been mob

connected for lots of years." Frank put in.

"Naw, Sonny doesn't want anything to do with the kid. He ran out on both of them. He'd been gone for years before Donna McCormick's death."

Sighing, the older man ran both hands down his face. "Do me a favor. Keep

an ear out for anything to do with McCormick. That guy clobbered him pretty

good today and I want to know why. Was he protecting our mystery lady, or was

he following her?"

Frank's reply was an elaborate shoulder shrug.

Hardcastle walked out and made his way over to where he had parked his truck. Mark was seated on the passenger side, his head bowed down. He seemed to be studying the toy car he held. He didn't look up as his friend climbed in and started up the truck.

Hardcastle drove in silence. He wanted to ask if McCormick was okay, but he could see the eye roll that he would receive in response to a question that

stupid. In fact, he couldn't come up with a way of opening a conversation

that didn't sound ridiculous. He settled for silence, hoping that just his

presence would give the kid something to hang on to.

For his part, Mark was grateful for the solid presence of his friend beside him. Memories flooded his mind, some good, some bad, but all of them

connected with his mother. He could see angles now that he missed as a child. His mother's insistence on school, her overprotectiveness towards him, and

her refusal to talk about his father. Even now, Mark couldn't be sure that

his mother and the man known then as Tommy Knight had ever been married. What if she was alive now? Where had she been for eighteen years? Why had he been abandoned to the system to fend for himself? And most important, was she trying to contact him now?

When they reached the house, Mark climbed wearily out of the truck and made his way to the gatehouse. The judge followed him, not wanting to crowd the young man, but needing to make sure that Mark was fine, at least physically. He was encouraged when Mark left the door open and allowed the older man into his house. Hardcastle watched as Mark flopped into the padded chair in the living room. Milt detoured to the small kitchen, grabbed two beers out of the fridge, then took a seat on the couch across from Mark. He handed one of the drinks to Mark before opening his own. Wisely, he kept his own counsel and

waited for Mark to speak.

He didn't have to wait long.

"What if it is her?" Mark's voice was low and full of doubt. "Could

she really be alive after all this time?"

"I don't know, kiddo. Audie wasn't one hundred percent sure. Frank

brought up an interesting point." Hardcastle paused a moment.

"Was Sonny involved, right?" Mark answered.

"Right. I don't think so, but we know that Sonny has had dealings with

the mob for years. What about some involvement with your mom?"

"I don't know. I don't think that mom would have anything to do with

them, but she loved dad. I was just a kid, I know that there was a lot that I

didn't understand, but how could she have just left me? All we had was each

other. I can't believe that she would choose to leave me." Mark leaned

back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. After a few moments he spoke

again. "I'm going to the park tomorrow. I have to find out for myself

what is going on."

"I'll go with you, kid." That simple statement of support brought the

ghost of a smile to Mark's face.

Mark spent the rest of the night alone. He begged off from the nightly movie marathon with Hardcastle and went to bed early. In spite of his

protestations, his head still hurt and he knew that he would need to be in

perfect shape for whatever happened tomorrow.

In the main house, the judge wasn't sleeping. He made phone call after

phone call to old friends trying to find any connections to Donna McCormick

all those years ago. Everything that he was able to find out said that the

woman had died and the county had buried her in a pauper's grave. Mark had

visited the cemetery on that fateful trip to Atlantic City and the judge

remembered the look of loss and love on his young charge's face.

Saturday morning found McCormick up early and sitting cross-legged by the side of the pool. He gazed at his reflection, noting that maybe it was time

for a haircut, his shoes were scuffed, his watch had stopped, anything to

avoid thinking at all. He still hadn't made up his mind about the woman and

the note. It just wasn't possible that she was his mother, that much he

knew. But who else would go to all the trouble of looking him up, and why, oh

why, would they forge a note from his mother? He sat there until a shadow

fell across the pool, forcing him to look up.

Hardcastle had overslept that morning. He hated getting older when he had to pay for staying up late into the night. The 6:30 a.m. basketball game was

getting harder and harder to face, though he wouldn't tell McCormick that.

By the time he awoke, the clock said 7:30. He took his time getting a shower

and getting downstairs to make coffee. He could see Mark sitting on the patio

and figured that the confused young man hadn't slept well either. Grabbing

two cups, the retired jurist filled them with hot coffee and stepped outside

to hear the young man's decision.

Silently, Mark climbed to his feet before taking the cup and leading the way to the picnic table. He sat down wearily, setting down the cup without taking

a drink. He was aware of Hardcastle's scrutiny but was unwilling to meet

his eyes. He knew that he was a mess. He had gone to bed without showering

and hadn't taken one this morning. He had thrown on his clothes from

yesterday and hadn't run a comb through his unruly mass of brown curls. He

sighed silently and waited for the lecture that he was sure was in the

making.

For his part, Hardcastle just looked at his young friend. The general

sloppiness told him a great deal about Mark's state of mind. For all that

the judge rode Mark about laziness, being sloppy just wasn't in Mark's

makeup. He knew that the kid was confused and hurting and wished that he had all the answers for his young friend. Mark was no longer the confused ex-con that Hardcastle had blackmailed into their unique partnership. He was now a

confident young man who had a real future ahead of him, one that Hardcastle

hoped he lived longed enough to enjoy vicariously. Deciding to let Mark make

the first move, Hardcastle snapped open the morning paper and busied himself

reading the headlines.

Silence reigned over the table for nearly twenty minutes before Mark spoke. "I'm going, Judge. For better or worse, I have to see this out. Whoever

this woman is, if she wanted to hurt me, she's had plenty of opportunities.

I think she needs help. I can't turn my back on her even if she isn't my

mom. If she can copy mom's handwriting that well, she must have known mom,

been a friend or something. I have to do this. I can't pass by a chance

to, I don't know, connect with Mom somehow." Mark turned haunted eyes on

his mentor. "I'd feel like I was letting mom down if I didn't try to help."

Hardcastle tucked his chin down to his chest and thought long and hard for a moment. "This could be a trick, something to play on your emotions, get you do something we both know isn't right." Hardcastle hated playing

devil's advocate, but he needed to know that Mark had thought about all the

possible dangers involved.

Mark nodded. "I've thought about that. It still doesn't change

anything. I'll just have to be careful. After all, I've got you to watch

my back, right, Kemosabe?" His voice held just a hint of trust in the old

nickname.

"Now yer cooking!" Mark and the judge both took comfort in the old

familiar routine.

That afternoon, Mark parked the Coyote in the main parking area of Griffith Park and sat for a few moments surveying the surrounding area. The judge and Frank were parked at the other end of the lot listening to the radio that Mark wore. It had been decided for Mark to meet the woman alone, but with help

nearby, just in case it was a trick of some kind. Mark was still sore from

the attack the previous day and the Judge was determined not to give anyone

else a chance to hurt the kid.

Mark got out of the car and walked slowly toward the observatory. Although the park itself was over four thousand acres, the observatory was one of its most recognizable features. Mark had no idea where in the park the mysterious woman wanted to meet. He would try the observatory first, then begin walking down some of the more populous trails. He had other places to try, the merry-go-round, the Greek theater, or even the famous Hollywood sign. He truly hoped that he wouldn't have to walk the entire park. It took several

minutes for Mark to walk up the trail to the observatory and determine that

the door was locked. A sign stated that the building was closed for the day

for maintenance. He sighed and walked back down to his car. Another envelope

lay on the seat for him.

"Okay, Judge." Mark murmured. "I just got another note here. It says

to meet at Amir's Garden. That's on the other side of the park. Let me

look at my map and see if there's an easier way to get there." He broke

off and rummaged in his glove box for a map. Opening it up, he quickly found

the easiest route to take to the isolated spot. Starting the car, he spoke to the mike again. "I'll have to get back on the freeway and take the zoo exit. There's a dirt road leading to the garden from the golf course. I'll have to go slow with the Coyote. Map says that the road is a fire service road, probably do a lot of damage if I'm not careful."

In Frank's car, the Judge and Frank wished they could talk back to Mark. They had seen a tall man drop the envelope into the Coyote, but had decided to wait for Mark instead of pursuing the man. Frank waited until Mark had driven out of the parking lot before following behind. Frank could hear the judge grumbling about the arrangement, but wisely refrained from answering.

Mark was silent on the drive to the new location. He winced every time he felt a rock bounce off the bottom of his car. At long last he pulled the car

to a stop at a small rocky parking area and got out. He leaned against the

car and folded his arms to wait. He didn't have to wait long. The same

woman he had seen at the car show the previous day stepped out from behind a

tree on the path and walked slowly towards him.

She appeared to be only a few years older than himself with wavy brown hair that reached below her shoulders. A few strands of gray could be seen around her temples. Her pantsuit was finely tailored and accented the bronze tan of her skin. The only thing out of place about her was the gun she carried in her left hand. Mark stood up straight and let his hands rest out to his sides to show that he wasn't a threat.

"Who are you?" he asked quietly.

Instead of answering, the woman asked a question of her own. "Are you alone?"

Mark made a show of looking around. "Well, I do have an army of ghosts here with me. What is this all about?"

She lowered the gun but didn't put it away. "I don't have any right

coming to you, but I had to. I don't have anyone else to turn to. Dad told

me about you years ago but I never thought that I'd ever meet you. He gave

me to my aunt and uncle to raise when I was five. He'd drop in every so

often, but never stayed long."

Mark was intrigued. "Who's your dad? And just how does he know me?"

"My dad's name is Tommy Goodall. He changes his name a lot. You used to know him as Tommy Knight. The last I heard, he goes by the name of Sonny Daye." Her gray eyes held his. "He met up with your mom, Donna, right

after my mom died. From what he says, I was about six when you were born. My name is Camille, Camille Ray. I'm your sister, Mark." Camile put the gun

back into her pocket and stepped closer.

Mark felt as though he had been punched in the gut. A sister? He'd had a sister all these years and had never known about her? "Why didn't Sonny

tell me? I met him last year, he never said anything about a sister!" Fury

at his father colored his tone. "Why? Why wouldn't he tell me? It's bad enough that he left us, but to keep on keeping secrets even now? That son-of-a-bitch!"

Camille let a slow smile cross her face. "You know, Uncle Louis has called him that many a time. Dad told us about you nearly a year after your mom

died. I had found a batch of letters that Donna had written to him, begging

to know why he had left. I have no idea why Dad kept them, but he did. I

think that he really did love your mom. Uncle Louis and Aunt Misty tried to

find you, but got nowhere. After a while, we all realized that you were

better off not knowing about us."

Mark was getting frustrated. He had thought he was finally going to get some answers, but all he was getting was a headache, and a hell of a lot more

questions. "Look, let's go to my place and figure this out."

"Will your friend the judge be there?" Camille asked.

"Yes. And he tends to worry a lot if I'm late." Mark said, hoping that Camille didn't suspect that he was wired and that the judge was listening to every word the two of them were saying.

"I'll bet he does. And since I know you two work with the police, I"m

sure that he isn't far from here right now, maybe even listening in on a wire. That's one reason why I know I can trust you. I'm in deep trouble and you two may be my only hope for staying alive." Camille's voice took on a despondent tone.

"What about your friend? The letter carrier, the one who slugged me?"

Mark asked.

"Don't worry about him. He's local. I hired him to protect me and run

a few errands. Delivering the letter at the observatory was his last job. He's gone by now." Camille walked over to the car. "I must say, brother, you do have class. I've never seen a car like this. It's fantastic. Is this the kind of car you used to race?"

Mark turned a bemused smile on his sister. "No, my friend designed this car for racing, but he died before he could get it finished. His daughter

gave it to me."

Camille nodded in understanding. "That would be Flip Johnson, wouldn't it. You used to race for him before you went to prison. I didn't know that he was trying to get you back into racing. I thought you hooked up with the

judge after stealing another car...oh, I get it." Camille gave Mark a long

look. "He's the one that Martin Cody had killed over a prototype. You

stole the car and then got caught and handed over to Hardcastle."

Mark gave a snort of laughter. "There was a bit more to it than that."

Knowing the judge and Frank were listening, Mark gave a highly detailed

version of Flip's death and the capture of the man responsible. He could

see Hardcastle sputtering at Mark's rendition of some of the details. Then

he thought of something else. "How did you find out that I was out here?"

Camille bit her lip before turning to face him. "I have been trying to

track you down for a couple of years now. I used private detectives to find

you instead of Uncle Louis' friends. If you know about Dad, it's a good

bet that you know he was in with the mob for years. Well, it's a family

business and you are the only one that isn't in it."

"That's part of your problem, isn't it?" Mark asked, knowing the

answer.

"Yes. Can we tell the rest of the story when we get to your place? I know that your judge friend and maybe your cop buddies would like to hear my story as well." Camille's voice was low and held a vague note of fright.

Mark's only response was to step on the gas a little harder and upshift.

The roar of the modified engine brought a big smile to Camille's otherwise

solemn face.

Once back at Gull's Way, Mark parked the Coyote in the garage and waited on the porch for Frank and Hardcastle to park and join them. He hadn't told his sister about the wire he was wearing, although she seemed to take it for

granted that he was wearing one. So far, she seemed to have a lot of answers

to go along with his rapidly growing list of questions. While they waited,

Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny transmitter hidden there.

"I think this has served it's purpose," he said quietly, turning the unit off and studying it.

"They're here." Camille stated as she watched Frank's tan sedan enter

the drive.

"Good. Let's go inside and meet them. I don't feel up to answering

questions on the front porch." Mark unlocked the door and led Camille into

the den. He showed her to a seat on the leather couch before taking a seat in

the matching chair. His mind roiled with questions, but he held back, waiting

for the older men to join him. He admitted to himself that he was almost

afraid to hear the answers.

Moments later, Hardcastle barged in, Frank hard on his heels.

"McCormick!" he roared.

"We're in here, Judge." Standing up, Mark had to grin at the outraged

look on Hardcastle's face. He held up a placating hand. "Just hold on to

that thought." Now he gestured at Camille. "Judge Milton Hardcastle, my

sister, Camille Ray."

"So I heard," Hardcastle growled, never one to let tact stop him. "Why

didn't you wait for us at the park?"

Mark was unrepentant. "Because I thought it was better to get Camille to safety. She needs our help, Judge. This was the safest place to bring her.

I knew you and Frank would be right behind us."

"We lost you on the freeway!" Hardcastle shouted back.

Mark grinned at his guest. "He always shouts when he worries." he

remarked, giving a sly grin. "Now are you gonna stand there shouting, or can Camille get on with her story? I'd kinda like to know more about my sister." Mark asked reasonably. He sat down and laced his fingers over his stomach, the very picture of relaxation. Only Hardcastle could tell how much self-control it was taking the young man before him to sit still.

Hardcastle let out a loud, and exasperated, sigh and walked over to his desk. Frank seated himself and crossed his legs. He had enough experience with conferences between his two friends that he knew he wasn't going to get in a word so he might as well make himself comfortable.

Hardcastle gave both young people a long stare before sitting down. He didn't want to burst Mark's bubble of happiness at finding some family,

but he couldn't help thinking about what a disappointment Sonny Daye had

turned out to be. He tried to give the impression that he was totally relaxed

as he waved a hand in Camille's direction. "By all means, Miss Ray,

please tell us all about yourself."

Camille laughed as she watched her brother roll his eyes at the older man's teasing tone. Everything she had been able to find out about Mark and the judge seemed to be right on. She repeated what she had told Mark about her background, knowing that what she had to say next would determine her own

fate.

"So why did you fool around with that letter and the present instead of

just calling Mark on the phone or coming here yourself?" Frank asked,

reasonably.

Camille looked down at her hands. "Because I was afraid. I'm in trouble and I can't trust anyone else. I used my own contacts to track down Mark

here. It took me the better part of a year. I ran into Dad last March and

he told me Mark was out here. I was looking for him back East. When I found

out that he was working with a judge, well, my own background held me back. I

was afraid he wouldn't want to know me. I'm not exactly a member of the

church choir."

"What do you mean?" Mark asked gently, scooting to the edge of the couch and laying his hand on her knee.

"You know that Dad was involved with the mob for many years, right?"

Seeing Mark's nod, she continued. "Well, he isn't the only one. Uncle Louis and his sister, my mom, were also in the family and so am, so was I." She didn't need to look at the two older men in the room to know her bombshell had hit hard. "That's how Dad met Mom. When Mom died, Dad gave me to her brother and his wife, Louis Kaufield and his wife Misty, They raised me and I was just expected to follow in the family's footsteps." Seeing the raised eyebrows of the two older men, she hastened to continue. "I've never been arrested or anything. I just do odd jobs for them."

"Like forging?" Hardcastle asked bluntly.

Camille looked at Mark. "Yes. Uncle Louis trained me. He's one of the

best."

"Louis Kaufield is your uncle?" Frank asked quickly. "He's not one

of the best, he is the best. The FBI has had him on their radar for years but

haven't been able to pin anything solid on him."

Hardcastle nodded. "I remember hearing about him."

Camille looked at both men. "He's retired now, but I was supposed to

take his place. But I just can't. I found out that one of the jobs I did got an innocent man killed. I ran. I've been on the run for about six weeks now." She grabbed on to Mark's hand. "I swear, I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt! I looked for you just to know that I had family, not to get you in trouble. But you are the only one I can turn to. You're my last hope." Tears began to run down her face and she leaned into the protection of her brother's arms.

Mark held her, rocking her back and forth slightly and stroking her hair.

His own eyes were closed and he murmured words of comfort into her ear. Frank and Milt watched the two of them, knowing that the kid would move the ends of the earth for this girl.

Long moments later, Camille lifted her head and tried to smile. She took the tissue that Hardcastle handed her and daintily wiped her nose. "I'm sorry for breaking down like that. I don't usually lose control."

"I'd say you had good reason too this time," Hardcastle said drolly.

Before Mark or Hardcastle could ask anymore questions, Frank jumped in with one of his own. "Why did you forge Donna McCormick's handwriting? And how did you find Mark?"

Camille smiled. "Finding Mark was the hard part. It took me over a year. Mostly it was by accident. I heard some men talking about Tommy Sales being arrested and that some kid had claimed to be Sonny Daye's kid. Since you helped arrest Tommy, no one in Atlantic City believes that you are related to

Sonny." She turned to face Mark again. "I recognized your name so I

started gathering information. I found where you raced before you went to

prison and went backwards from there. Then I ran into Dad and he pointed me

here. I came out to California a month ago. I was already running so I

decided to run here."

Now she turned to Hardcastle and Frank. "I just wanted Mark to know that I was serious. I sent the pizza after watching you order one just like it last

week. As for the letter, I told you, I found all the letters that Donna sent

Dad. I had plenty to work with. I just thought that maybe Mark would feel

more comfortable with me if I could prove that I knew about Donna. From what

I have managed to find out about you, Judge, it seemed a safer bet than just

sending an anonymous gift."

"Well, at least it got our attention." Mark put in. He turned to Frank.

"Told ya that Nelson didn't have anything to do with it."

"Nelson? Who is that?" Camille asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Some local guy who tried to go into business for himself as the perfect hitman. Hardcastle knew him from a few years ago and we just wrapped up a case with him as the main course." Mark replied.

"He's done a couple of jobs for a guy named Bryan Wingate. He's

good at what he does." The judge added in offhandedly. "We think that one of his last jobs was to kill a guy named Jacques Newcombe for stealing drugs from Wingate."

Camille perked up her ears. "When was this?"

"About six months ago, I think. Why?"

"No reason. Being part of the family, I hear things." she continued,"So how did you get him?"

"Mark here pretended to need a favor. He took out a contract on me and Nelson took it. At the time the hit was to take place, Mark took him out."

Hardcastle explained.

"What he isn't telling you is that Nelson had a camera on him while I

carried a wire. Nelson found the wire by accident and tried to shoot me. Now

we have him on attempted murder, conspiracy to commit, assault with intent and

whatever else we could fit on the dotted line." Mark finished.

"Why hasn't he gotten out on bail or something? I thought anyone could

get out on anything nowadays." Camille commented.

"I just had a word in edgewise with my old friend, Judge Washington and bail was denied. Seems that our friend Nelson has a habit of running.

The district attorney is prepared to go to the prelim hearing in two days." Hardcastle snorted and sank deeper into his chair. "He'll go back to lockup and we'll be rid of him until his trial in six months."

Camille gave her brother an appraising look, "Do you do this all the

time?"

"Not really. Come on, I"ll show you what I really do." Taking her by

the hand, Mark led the way outside.

The following day, Hardcastle was awakened by the aroma of fresh coffee and the truly enticing scent of cinnamon rolls. He rolled over and looked at his bedside clock. The hands stood at 7:03. He groaned, remembering that he and McCormick had agreed to skip their morning basketball workout since they had been up late the previous evening. Hardcastle was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep, but the fragrances wafting up the stairs prompted him to crawl out of bed.

Pulling on his bathrobe, Hardcastle made his way downstairs into the kitchen. Camille was standing there wearing a pair of Mark's old sweats. She perked up upon Hardcastle's entry. "Good morning. I hope you don't mind, but

I love to cook. Mark showed me around the kitchen last night and said you

wouldn't mind if whipped up a little something for breakfast." She handed

the judge a cup of coffee and took one for herself.

"Smells good. McCormick's idea of a good breakfast is frozen waffles."

He took a judicious sip, "Tastes good, too. Are those cinnamon rolls I smell?"

"Uh, huh. I couldn't sleep so I came down about an hour ago and made

them. They'll be out in a few minutes. I just finished making the glaze.

Can you keep an eye on them while I go up and change? Mark gave me some

clothes last night. Seems a lady friend of his left a few things at his place." She didn't add that she would have to go back to her motel for more clothes or just to leave later. After spending time with Mark, she didn't want to leave. She hurried upstairs leaving her host to his coffee.

Hardcastle did some hard thinking. He had asked Frank to make some inquiries about Camille. Something in her story just didn't ring true. In spite of

her story, Hardcastle just didn't trust her. He was still musing when McCormick walked in the back door.

"Hey! I smell rolls!" He grabbed a potholder and opened the oven door.

The rolls were nicely browned so he took them out and set the pan on the

stovetop to cool. He grabbed the bowl of glaze and carefully drizzled it on

the still hot rolls. Then he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down next

to Hardcastle. "Don't tell me, you got up early and made breakfast? 'Cause I sure don't see Aunt May or Aunt Zora around."

"I made the rolls, thank you." Camille's voice floated into the kitchen. She entered, looking very casual in Mark's jeans and a yellow knit top. "Thanks for the clothes, Mark. I have to find some more today."

"We'll figure that out later. Right now, I'm hungry and these rolls

smell heavenly. Who taught you how to cook?" Mark busied himself pulling

out plates and getting out the milk to go with the rolls.

"Aunt Misty. She can cook anything and her baking is just to die for. She taught me a lot."

"So, your aunt taught you how to cook and your uncle taught you how to

forge. Quite a family you have there." Hardcastle observed.

Camille raised her eyebrows at him. "And Tommy Knight taught me not to trust anyone." Her voice hardened. "I know you don't trust me, and that's fine. I'll be out of your hair soon. I can't stay here, I have to leave before my old boss f finds me. He has contacts all over out here."

"Kinda odd, him being based out of Jersey, but running things out here?" Hardcastle mused.

"Not really. In this day and age, a lot of the old families are branching

out. Technology is wonderful. You can bring drugs in from Asia, truck them

across the desert, and sell them in New York in just a week. No outside help

and your profit margin stays high." Camille raised her chin a bit. "Yes,

Your Honor, I know what my uncle was in. I wanted out before they dragged me

down. Mark got out, even if it was by accident, and I want out too."

Mark laid his arm on her arm. "Don't worry. Hardcastle here'll figure

something out. He knows all kinds of tricks."

Camille leaned over and gave him a one-armed hug. "I hope so, little

brother. I hope so." The smile on Mark's face lit up the entire kitchen.

After breakfast, Mark took Camille shopping for clothes and other

necessities. It had been decided that it was too dangerous for Camille to go

back to her motel room. Mark found himself opening up to her. Over a quick

lunch in the mall food court, he shared the details of his meeting with their

father and found that she wasn't surprised by Sonny's attitude. "You

forget, Dad gave me up. Then he left. He never cared about me, just wanted

to keep on going. He can't help it. The only thing he could ever do, ever brag

about, was safecracking. When he went to prison, it scared him so badly, he

gave that up as well." Camille took both of Mark's hands in hers. "It's not you that Sonny was running from, it was himself."

"I know that. Hardcastle has been the best. I was always finding new ways to screw up till he took me by the scruff of the neck and set me straight."

Mark looked down at his food. "He makes me mad, he yells at me, but he

trusts me. He makes me feel like I can do something right." Now his grin

spread over his face. "And if you ever tell him I said that, I'll deny it." Both siblings laughed, drawing amused looks from the other patrons of the food court.

Hardcastle was putting the roast in the oven for dinner when he heard the pounding on the front door. "I'm coming, I'm coming." he muttered as

he hurried down the hall. Opening the door, he only had a moment to recognize

the man in front of him before the gun in the man's hand slammed into his

face.

Before leaving the shopping center, Mark found a payphone. "Let me just call Hardcase and make sure we don't need to bring anything home for supper," he

explained as he fed coins into the phone. The phone rang several times before

being picked up. "Hardcase? Judge?" Mark listened carefully. "It's

me, McCormick. Are you there, Judge?"

An eerily familiar voice answered him. "He's here, for now. Why don't

you come on home, too. I'm sure that the Judge would love to see you before

he dies." With that statement, the phone went dead.

Mark hung up quickly before fishing for more coins in his pocket. Dumping them into the phone, he dialed again, ignoring Camille's puzzled look.

"Frank? It's McCormick. Something's happened to Hardcastle. Nelson

has him. Of course I'm sure! I just talked to him on the phone. How the

hell did he get out?" He listened carefully for a moment. "I don't know. I have Camille with me. Nelson is waiting at the house. Yeah, you're right, he'll be gone before we get there. Meet me there and we'll figure out something after that." He hung up and bowed his head for a moment before turning to face his sister.

"Remember we told you about Nelson?" At her nod, he continued.

"He's got Hardcastle. Frank is going to meet us at the house. When we

get there, I want you to go with a couple of officers and hide out. This

could messy and we don't need anyone to know that you are in the middle of

it."

"But I want to help, Mark." she protested.

Mark put his arms around her. "I know, and the best way you can help is by staying out of the way," Without giving her a chance to comment, Mark picked up the shopping bags and led the way out of the mall at a fast pace.

By the time they arrived back at Gulls Way, Mark wasn't surprised to find that Frank had beaten them. One patrol car was stationed just outside the turn off to the driveway and another was parked in front of the gatehouse. Frank himself had parked in front of the main house and was standing just inside the open door. He raised his eyebrows at Mark's speedy entrance but held his peace, choosing to focus on the reason for Mark's haste instead.

Frank held up his hands to stop his young friend. "No Mark, he isn't here." he said in answer to the unspoken question. "Nelson took him. My guess is that he will try to make some kind of deal with you to make sure you don't testify."

"The only deal he's getting is a short trip to Hell if he hurts Milt." Mark growled. He stiffened when he felt a hand take hold of his arm from behind. He whirled, then relaxed when he saw Camille. He flashed a wan smile at her and covered her hand with his own.

"It'll be okay, Mark." she comforted him. "This Nelson guy has got to be rather, I don't know, _stupid_, to try a trick like this. Does he really think he can kidnap a federal judge and just walk off scot-free?"

"No one ever accused a hit man of having brains, but he is good. Right now he is desperate and not thinking straight. He's got to have money and he must get McCormick out of the way. Mark is the only thing between him and life in prison," Frank summed up the situation.

"If he's after Mark, why go after Hardcastle?" Camille asked pointedly. "Wouldn't it make more sense to just set up a hit on him alone?"

"It would make more sense, but Mark has had police protection for the last few days, even today." Frank told her.

"I didn't see..." Camille started.

"I did." Mark confessed. "Usually I wouldn't put up with it, but since I had you with me, we just felt that it would be better all the way around if the cops were following me just in case any of your old employers had anyone around." Mark turned and joined hands with her. "I just found you, I'm not about to have anyone take you away from me."

"I love you too, Mark, but what are we going to do now?" Her use of the word 'we' and not 'you' did not go unnoticed.

Frank answered her. "Now we wait. Nelson will contact us about his next move. We plan around that." Just then the house phone rang. Being closest to it, Frank answered. After saying hello, he listened hard for a couple of minutes before saying a terse "Thanks." and hanging up.

"That was Mike. It seems that one of his informants just told him that Nelson has a new employer. Now he has the money he needs to run. We have got to catch him now."

"Who is the target?" Mark wanted to know.

Frank looked him squarely in the eye. "You."

"No surprise there. With the extra police protection, this may have been the only way to could see to get me." Mark sat on the couch and made himself comfortable. "Now we wait."

They didn't have to wait long. Barely two hours later, the phone rang. Camille and Frank listened to the one sided conversation. "Hello?" Mark's tone was gruff but polite. "Nelson. I knew that I'd hear from you. That was really a stupid move. I'm the one the cops need, not Hardcastle. All you've managed to do is really piss off L.A.'s finest." He listened for a few moments. "Not until I talk to Hardcastle." He paused before speaking again.

"Judge? That you? Trying to save your butt, what else? Just don't do anything, okay. I've got it under control." Another short pause. "Okay, where do we do this? Yeah, I know the place. What time? I'll be there. If he's hurt in any way, I'll enjoy putting you back in prison in little pieces." Mark hung up the phone and just stood there with his hand on the receiver and his head hung down.

Camille studied the young man beside her. With all that she knew about Mark's background, it seemed cruelly unfair for him to lose the person who meant the most to him. When Mark did raise his head a few seconds later, she noted the coldness in his eyes and the steel in his voice as he spoke.

"We do this my way." Neither Frank nor Camille tried to disagree with him.

Frank led the way over to the couch and sat down. Camille followed him and patted the chair beside her as an invitation for Mark to join them. After a moment, Mark walked over and dropped into the chair. "He wants to meet at sundown at that lookout spot about four miles down south on the coast. I know the one he means. It's barely a wide spot on the shoulder but a great place for people to pull off and watch the sunset over the ocean. The land is flat, no real places to hide, no way to sneak in another car of people. The deal is real simple. I drive there, get out, show him my keys. Then I throw my keys over the cliff. He lets Hardcase go and I go with him. Without the keys, Milt can't follow us."

Camille caught her breath. "He'll kill you, Mark, you know that. You can't do it."

Frank saw the slight grin that was beginning to show on Mark's face. In a flash, he caught on. "No he won't. That overlook is small, but on the opposite side of the road is a cliff. Now a good man with a rifle could easily cover Mark and Milt. What do you think Mark? One on the cliff, one just under the ledge, and maybe two in the dunes? I think the saw grass is really thick right there now."

"Just what I was thinking. Nelson is starting to get panicky. He knows that I've told the police by now. That overlook is far too small for a conventional force to surround. He isn't going to be looking for a small unit." Mark gripped Camille's hand tightly. "Don't worry, sis. It'll all work out, you'll see."

"At least I see what you got from our dear father." Camille's face was creased in a worried smile. "That absolute confidence." At Mark's frown, she added, "but with the ability to go with it. Judge Hardcastle believes in you and so do I."

The next hour passed slowly for Mark. He sat and listened as Frank called his friend in the SWAT command and arranged for men to cover the meeting spot. He was itching to take a more direct hand in the planning, but he knew his time would come. Let Frank do what he did best, then Mark would do his. There was one thing that he had to contend with, Camille. He didn't want her to be anywhere near the operation, but he didn't trust anyone else to watch over her either.

Without thinking about it, Mark's hand strayed up to play with the St. Christopher medal he always wore. It was one of the few things that his mother had given him that he still had. Camille found him like that when she came back into the den carrying a fresh tray of coffee cups and packaged cookies she had found on one of the kitchen shelves. She had salvaged the remains of the dinner the judge had started and had made sandwiches out of the roast for the officers who were stationed around the estate.

"Mark? Mark?" she shook his shoulder gently.

Mark jumped slightly. "What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking."

"I could tell. I'm worried about you Mark. That man is just as likely to kill the both of you before the police can do anything. I don't want to see you hurt." She handed him the cup of coffee before retaking her seat on the couch.

"Aww, don't worry." he said with a false smile. "I'm too fast for anything to happen. And Hardcastle is too mean. We'll be fine." Mark took a sip of his coffee before he continued. "I'm worried about you. I don't want you out there."

"I'm going. There is no way I can stay, not knowing." she argued.

"I may have a solution."

"Solution to what?" Frank asked. He joined the small group, taking a cup of coffee and a handful of cookies before sitting on the coffee table facing the siblings.

"Finding somewhere for Camille to wait." Mark explained.

"I'm all ears."

"I said, I'm going with you. I'll stay with Frank on the cliff, but I am going." the young woman insisted.

Her brother gave her a long look. "This is going to be dangerous. I don't want you in the middle of it."

Camille snorted. "In case you forgot, I'm on the run. I can't think of a better place to be than surrounded by cops."

Mark waved a hand in the air. "I don't have time to fight you. Frank? Can she stay with you? If you are on the cliff, Nelson won't even know she is there. And I won't have to worry about her. If you say no, I'll take her to Father Atia. He'll protect her."

"Who's Father Atia?" Camille asked.

"A local priest. Hardcastle and I helped him out of a tight spot once. He knows something about Family business." Mark didn't want to go into all the details of the young man's background. After all, it wouldn't look good for the priest if his parishioners knew that his father was a gangster.

Frank thought long and hard for a few moments. "I"ll let her stay with me. Like she said, she won't get close enough to the action to be in any danger."

"It's settled then. Time for me to go. Camille, you come with me. I want to get my men in position at least an hour before Nelson shows up. I'll leave one car here to tail you to the meet. He'll drop off a mile before the overlook so Nelson won't see him. Wear a hat, Mark. Take it off if we need to come in early. Otherwise, I'll signal just as the judge gets into your car." Frank stood up and gave Camille a hand to rise as well. They paused just inside the front door and turned back to Mark. "Don't worry, kid. We'll get Hardcastle and Nelson." With that, Frank and Camille were gone.

Mark waited for a very long forty-five minutes before he climbed into the Coyote and set off for his meeting. The drive only took a few minutes and he could see the tan sedan waiting for him. Hardcastle was standing by the car on the beach side with his hands behind his back. As he parked the car, Mark could see that the judge's hands were handcuffed around the center post between the front and rear doors. Nelson was standing a yard away with his hand in his pocket and an lazy smile on his face.

"Nice of you to join us, McCormick. Let's get this done quickly."

"How?" was Mark's simple answer. The flat tone of his voice and the stony look in his eyes told Hardcastle just how upset the young man was. The baseball cap on his head hid the darkness in his eyes, but the judge didn't need to see them to be able to picture the fury there.

"It's simple really. You throw your keys over the side of the cliff. I'll throw you the keys to release Hardcastle and you handcuff him to your car. I'll give you another pair of cuffs to put on yourself, then we get into my car and leave. By the time anyone rescues Hardcastle, I'll be long gone." He didn't have to add that Mark's trip would be a short one.

"And you don't hurt Hardcastle?"

"I have no reason to. He wasn't listening to your little conversation so his testimony isn't that important. Your's however is. Now throw your keys away." Nelson's voice became hard as steel and a gun appeared in his right hand. His green eyes held a look of triumphant as Mark reached into his pocket.

Up on the cliff side, Frank and Camille lay side by side in the tall amber weeds watching the scene play out below them. Frank held a rifle loosely in his grasp. With Mark's sister to protect, he wasn't taking any chances. He was watching the scene below him so intently that he wasn't aware of the area around himself. He never saw the rock that hit him in the head or felt the rifle being taken out of his hand.

Camille lay on the cliff and sighted the rifle down on the three men on the beach. She could see Mark gesturing and Hardcastle standing with his back to the sedan. Mark took a few steps toward the car and then stopped. She saw him reach into his pants pocket and withdraw his hand a moment later. Without changing expression, she began to apply pressure to the trigger.

Mark reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a set of keys. Locking gazes with Nelson, he threw the keys over the bluff. "Okay, your turn," he said to the man holding the gun.

Nelson pitched a set of keys underhanded to Mark. "Cuff him to the door of your car. I don't want him running for help." He watched as Mark uncuffed his friend and walked with him to the Coyote. He couldn't hear the low conversation that passed between the two men or see the keys in the ignition. Moments later, the judge was standing with one hand cuffed to the passenger side door of the sports car and Mark was walking back to Nelson. The hitman had pulled out a second set of handcuffs and was waiting impatiently. Just before Mark reached him, a shot rang out from on top of the hill.

********************

Opening his eyes, Frank blinked furiously, trying to get the world to come back into focus. He found he was lying face down, facing Camille who was holding his rifle. He was confused at first. Why was a woman holding a rifle like she knew what to do? All of Camille's concentration was on the scene below them. Frank inched his head around and saw Mark handcuff the judge to the Coyote. As Mark was walking back to the brown sedan, Frank could see Camille tightening her finger on the trigger.

"What are you doing?!" he yelled as he reached out and grabbed the gun. The shot went wild as Camille wrenched the gun away. She used the butt end to punch Frank in the stomach.

"You stupid cop!" Anything else she had to say was lost as Frank again grabbed for the gun and the two began to wrestle for control. More officers ran over as the two rolled over and over in the tall grass.

********************

Mark and Nelson both ducked as the shot rang out from the top of the hill. Mark recovered first and rushed at Nelson, knocking him down. Nelson threw a fist into Mark's abdomen and received a blow to the face in return. Using the handcuffs as a weapon, Nelson hit Mark across the ear and rolled away, coming to his feet and searching the ground for his gun.

Mark reached his feet and stopped. Nelson had his gun trained on him. "Not what I wanted, but the same result. I'll still get paid." A second shot rang out in the still evening air. A look of shocked surprise crossed the hitman's face as he crumpled to the ground.

Mark spun around to face his mentor. Hardcastle stood there, the handgun that Mark had left on the passenger seat was pointed at Nelson, the handcuffs still loosely locked around his left wrist. Seeing that Hardcastle was unharmed, Mark allowed himself to relax. Just as he started to walk back to Hardcastle, a third shot rang out. Mark grabbed his leg and fell to the ground.

The judge ducked back behind the car and started looking up the hill for the source of the shot. He had convinced himself that Mark would have called the police and Frank would have set up a cover from the hillside. Now it looked like he was wrong and Nelson had brought his own backup man. He looked over to where Mark lay on the ground clutching his leg and breathing heavily.

"McCormick!" the judge called softly. He got no answer. Raising his voice, he tried again. "McCormick!"

"I'm okay, Hardcase." Mark lied. "It's just a flesh wound. Missed the bone, I think. Where the hell did that shot come from? Frank had the cliff covered."

"I don't know, but it looks like Frank might have a problem up there." Hardcastle fell into silence as he debated whether or not it was safe enough to try and rescue the wounded man.

********************

On the hillside, Camille succeeded in clouting Frank hard enough across the face to sight in one more shot. She smiled grimly as she saw Mark go down. That joy was short lived as four SWAT officers gathered around her shouting and pointing their weapons at her. Moments later, she was handcuffed and led away.

One of the arresting officers called for an ambulance as he knelt down to help Frank to sit up. Frank waved him off and ordered for the rest of the officers stationed around to converge on the beach and see what help Hardcastle and McCormick might need. Frank tried to stand but fell back weakly. The second time, he took the hand that was offered and pulled himself to his feet. He looked over the bluff at the scene below and swore.

********************

Judge Hardcastle crouched behind the door of the low slung car and gripped his gun tightly. Just as he made up his mind to risk running after Mark, he heard sirens close by and closing fast. He stood up and ran for his friend.

Mark was lying on his side, both hands wrapped around his right leg. The leg of his jeans was wet with blood and a small pool of it was under his calf.

Hardcastle got down on one knee and rolled Mark over onto his back. "Take it easy, kid. I've got you."

"It's not bad. How's Nelson?" Mark asked through gritted teeth.

"I don't know." Hardcastle's tone implied that he really didn't care. "Let me look at that leg." He pulled out a pocket knife and slit the pants up from the ankle to the knee to expose the ugly wound underneath. He was aware of officers running toward them and Nelson. One man dropped down beside them with a first aid kit and started pulling out bandages. He wrapped Mark's leg, applying a steady pressure to stop the bleeding.

"Doesn't look too bad but I bet it hurts like hell." the officer noted.

"You got that right," Mark admitted. "What the hell happened up there?"

"I have no idea." the officer said. "My partner and I were stationed about a mile back. We heard the shots but didn't come in since we didn't know what was going on. Didn't want to make a bad situation worse. After the third shot, we got the call to move in. Lieutentant Harper should be down in a minute." He looked behind him at the police cruiser pulling into the small overlook. "In fact, there he is."

Frank climbed out of the car and was met by another uniformed officer. After a brief conversation, Frank thanked the man and walked over to his friends. "How ya doing, Mark?" he asked.

"I'm good. Where's Camille? What happened?" Mark sat up, leaning heavily on the judge. His eyes searched for his sister.

Frank looked down, avoiding the question. Hardcastle gripped his shoulder. "What?"

Frank took a deep breath. "She's not what she seems. She was the backup for Nelson. She hired him when she got out here to take out both of you. She told us that much."

Mark tried to ask a question but found his voice gone. He started shaking, partly in shock from the blood loss, and partly in anger. The young man felt his friend's grip tighten on his upper arms. The judge asked the question for him. "She tried to kill Mark?"

Holding up his hands, Frank fended off anymore questions. "Right now, all I know is that she was hired to kill both of you. She clobbered me and took my gun. I'll get the full story once I get her downtown. You get yourself looked after and I'll meet you once I finish my report." Seeing that Mark was shaking even more, Frank removed his suit coat and draped it over the young man. "I'm sorry, Mark," was all he said as he rose and left.

Six hours later, Frank met Hardcastle in Mark's hospital room. Surgery had been required to remove the bullet from Mark's lower leg. He was lying in bed with his leg elevated on a pile of pillows. Blood dripped from an IV into his arm and a second IV ran fluids and antibiotics into the back on his hand. "Come on in, Frank," Mark waved.

"You doing okay? I thought the damage was pretty slight." Frank commented as he surveyed the bandaged leg.

"Bullet nicked an artery and broke the fibula in the back of his calf. No weight on that leg for at least six weeks." Hardcastle answered. "Hard enough to get any work out of him before, now it'll be impossible." The attempt at humor fell flat. "What'd you find out?"

Frank began to pace. "Her real name is Lina Conway. She's a shooter out of Atlantic City. She knew the whole story behind Tommy Knight and stole those letters she talked about from him just long enough to have Kaufield do those forgeries. Like I said before, he is the best. Conway got the contract to go after the two of you from Tommy Sales."

"But Sales is in jail. Kidnaping Mark was the icing on his cake." Hardcastle protested.

Frank raised a finger to stop him. "Was in jail. His lawyer got that tape the FBI was holding thrown out. After that he was able to make bail. Now the only people that can send him back to prison is the two of you. He needed a way to get both of you out of the way. He knows that Sonny Daye won't roll over on him."

"So where does this Lina Conway come in at?" Hardcastle asked, stealing a glance at Mark. The younger man was picking at imaginary pieces of lint on the starched sheet.

"She's a professional. Her methods are slow and easy. Sales already knew where to find you and she did the rest. By building up slow she got you to trust her. Finding Nelson was just lucky. She paid him for the hit, and set herself up as the backup shooter."

Now Mark looked up. "Did she tell you that?"

"Part of it. Nelson told us about her hiring him. He's dead by the way. I got to talk to him before surgery but he died on the table." Frank got up from his chair and stood at Mark's bedside. "The rest of it we learned from the federal authorities out in New Jersey. They have warrants out for Conway's arrest on half a dozen jobs up and down the East Coast."

A nurse choose that minute to put in an appearance. "I'm sorry sir, but visiting hours are over. Mr. McCormick, I've brought you another dose of pain medicine." She made a show of checking the IV's as Frank made his goodbyes.

"I'll check on you later, kid. Get some sleep, Milt." With that advice, Frank was gone.

The two men waited for the nurse to finish up her work and leave before speaking again. Milt stood over Mark's bed and studied him. "It's not like it's your fault, ya know."

The two men waited for the nurse to finish up her work and leave before speaking again. Milt stood over Mark's bed and studied him. "It's not like it's your fault, ya know."

"Yeah , I know. You just attract psychos who like Tonto." Mark grinned humorlessly. "It felt good, you know. To have a sister for a bit. Not to be alone anymore. Well, maybe not totally alone...but-- " He dropped his head down to his chest.

Hardcastle cleared his throat. "I understand what you mean. A family, not some old grouch like me on your tail all the time."

After a long moment, Mark raised his head back up. "What was it like growing up with a family? Knowing that there was someone there for you all the time, a mom to laugh with, a dad to share secrets with? After mom died, I never had any of that."

Hardcastle had to think for a long time before he answered. "It was good," he admitted. "Sure we were poor and didn't have a lot of things, but we had each other. Even Gerry had his good side once in a while." Another pause, followed by a nervous throat clearing. "I never knew anything about being alone till my wife died. After that, I quit caring, quit feeling."

"I did that, too. I guess that's why I got into so much trouble, there wasn't anyone to stop me." He allowed a slight grin to creep out. "Until now, that is."

Hardcastle had to smile. "Now you're cookin', kiddo."


End file.
